


A knight's duty

by MoonTearChild



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonTearChild/pseuds/MoonTearChild
Summary: How could one man look so damn good, and, yet another, better question - why did he have to notice it all of the time? It was growing to be a distraction, because, sure, while he never really slept much anyways, what little sleep he did typically manage was littered with thoughts of soft curls and a deep laugh. Not to mention that damn smile…
Relationships: Mirage | Elliott Witt/Octane | Octavio Silva
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	A knight's duty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhThatsViolet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhThatsViolet/gifts).



The steady clicking sound of his metal feet hitting the floor rings out across the dropship, signaling his approach. 

Today, Octavio "Octane" Silva had a plan. It wasn't any of his usual plans, no pranks or intentions to bother his usual suspects for lack of something better to do, no. This was something important. Something he had spent countless hours ruminating over in the dead of nights, where even his usual fidgeting had fell silent in pursuit of making up his mind…

He comes to a stop outside of the dorms, shuffling from one foot to the other with the dull sound of the springs that had long since become a part of him. He could feel eyes on him, as typically, when he lingered, it was never for good reason, but he found himself more self conscious than usual. 

"No lollygaggin', slim." Anita's firm voice calls out across the hallway, and it snaps him from his thoughts. Deep breath. Yeah, he could do this.

He steps foot into the room, or well, it was more like a cubby, since it was three walls, not four. Those particular three walls were plastered with memorabilia, all of the same handsome face that had been an active part of his thoughts lately, and he finds himself getting a little more hot under the collar. 

"Oh, uh, hey Octane. What's up, man?" 

He's embarrassed to admit the voice makes him jump, just a little. Elliott was stood at his desk, looking over with that damned smile that made his heart race faster than that time he'd ran the gauntlet, the top half of his jumpsuit tied around his waist to expose a black tank top that hugged his torso perfectly. 

"Hey, amigo… Uh, what brings you here?" He asks. Setting down the screwdriver he was holding, Elliott turns fully, leaning back against the metal table with his arms folded, brow raised.

"Well, I live here. At least most of the time… Is everything okay? You need something?" His tone is concerned, and the runner curses internally. 

"Me? Nah. I'm good. Great, even, compadre. Ready to kick some ass!" 

' _ Good job, idiota. _ ' He thinks to himself, frowning behind his mask. Now Elliott probably thought he was some kind of weirdo, or something. He knew he was never good with words - countless years of broken apologies to Che had clearly demonstrated as much, so perhaps he should just quit while he was ahead. 

"Octane, are you-" 

Whatever he was about to say was cut short by the all too familiar sound of the ear piercing klaxon, indicating it was time to go - they had just minutes before drop, before the fighting began and Octavio could forget this whole embarrassing mess had ever happened with a little stim and some kills under his belt. He watches as Elliott’s mouth snaps shut, having forgotten whatever it was he was going to say in favour of untying his jumpsuit from around his waist, tugging the sleeves over those toned arms and fiddling with the buttons down the middle, smoothing a hand down afterwards to make sure it was presentable. He can’t help but admire the man stood before him, because even as Elliott stumbled about his cubby, tugging on his boots and hastily lacing the straps of his beloved hologear onto his arms, Octavio realised he still looked so  _ perfect _ . It was unfair, really. How could one man look so damn good, and, yet another, better question - why did he have to notice it all of the time? It was growing to be a distraction, because, sure, while he never really slept much anyways, what little sleep he did typically manage was littered with thoughts of soft curls and a deep laugh. Not to mention that damn smile… 

“Earth to yuh, O!” A familiar voice calls him from his thoughts, along with a well manicured hand waving in front of his goggles that makes him go cross eyed.

“Oh, hey chica.” He greets, and she wastes little time in grabbing his hand, dragging him out of the room and into the hallway.

“Yuh as obvious as a slap to the face, yuh know.” She scolds playfully, a smile gracing her lips. 

“Yeah right!” He scoffs back, folding his arms and tapping a metal foot impatiently. “I had it!”

“Mhm. C’mon wit’ yuh, time to fight.”

  
  


Octavio had expected to be partnered up with the medic, the way she had pulled him away from an almost certain blunder, but he supposed looking back on it that she had just wanted to make sure he didn't miss the match. Ajay was an infamous rule follower, and the last thing he needed was a suspension from the one thing that seemed to bring him genuine adrenaline these days.

But adrenaline was the last thing on his mind at the moment, seeing who he had been inevitably partnered up with for the match.

"Oh, hey buddy!" Elliott grins, looking up from where he was adjusting his hair in the reflection of a pane of glass. “Looks like you’re stuck with little ol’ me - what are the odds, right?” The laugh that accompanies the question is anxious at best, and Octavio finds himself wondering if his earlier attitude had freaked him out. 

“Riiight.” He readjusts his goggles, stepping onto the platform that would lower them to the sky, almost close enough to touch the clouds. “Ready for a fight, compadre?”

Octavio loved it when the role of jumpmaster fell to him. The familiar sensation begins to bubble within him as he surveys the map, watching the others take the leap and trying to gauge which location would hold the best loot. “I say we land here.” He says, and, with agreement from Elliott, he sends them both tumbling down into the sky, the wind whipping at his exposed skin, whistling past them at the speed of sound, he lets out a laugh of pure excitement, turning to flip in midair. No matter how many times he had done it, dropping was always a thrilling start to a match, and one of his favourite activities. Things were going to be good - he could feel it.

  
  


Things were not going good. Airbase was a bloodbath; a hotdrop location that had only grown more dangerous by the three or so squads other than them that had begun to fight, which had quickly begun to idraw more squads to the location until they were stuck, sandwiched between two duos who had clearly gotten the upper hand on the gun rotation.

“I’m going to make a run for it.” Mirage exclaims, peeking over one of the boxes they were huddled behind. “There’s a spitfire over there. Could to- turn the ti- the.. It could be good for us.” 

Octane couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, compadre. I know I’m all for crazy ideas, but this is the kind of stupid crazy that even I don’t condone.” 

“You got a better idea?” Mirage asks, rolling his eyes. They duck hastily as another bullet whizzes overhead, and the all too familiar thunk of a deathbox hitting the floor sends the trickster into action. In a flurry of blue light, he runs out, decoys scattering in every direction in an attempt to divert the enemy’s attention long enough to gain the upper hand. The other squad was dead, it was just the two of them, and whoever it was on the otherside. Octavio’s breath catches in his throat as Elliott’s hands secure around the gun, and in a burst of fire, he unloads on the other squad. It was truly a sight to behold, but before he can spring into action, the sound of a triple take bolt rings out, and Mirage falls hard against the ground. 

“Mierda!” He growls out, hoping the man could at least get behind cover before his cloak wore off, or things would become even more precarious for the runner. 

Octane does what he does best, throwing down a jump pad and popping the needle of his stim vial into his chest, feeling the surge it brought him as he flies into the air, p2020 at the ready and aimed. Elliott had, miraculously, managed to down Wraith with what few bullets he had in the gun’s chamber, and with the press of a trigger, once, twice, Revenant too had fallen, leaving behind two boxes sat neatly on the roof. 

He heaves hard, chest shuddering with breaths as he looks around, searching for the familiar flash of yellow among the concrete. “Elliott?!” He calls out, hoping desperately he wouldn’t attract anymore curious opponents. 

“Over here!” The reply he gets in return is strained, and he hops down from the roof, turning a corner to see the trickster laid back against a supply bin, holding onto a wound at his side that was oozing a deep red. His blood ran cold at the sight, and without thought, he yanks up his goggles, falling to his knees next to Elliott and placing a hand over his to staunch the bleeding. 

“Shit- Are you alright?! I-I mean-” He falter’s when Elliott laughs, weak and husky. 

“Not really. Was a good effort though right? V-Valiant?”

“Shut up. You’re going to be fine.” He spits out from between gritted teeth, looking around frantically. The thought of seeing Elliott seriously hurt, stuck in recovery for what could be weeks, alone in the medbay made him feel a sickening sense of dread. He didn’t want that to happen- no he  _ couldn’t  _ allow that to happen. Elliott wasn’t going to get hurt, not on his watch. “Stay here, si?” He stands, popping another vial off his vest, and he’s sprinting away before the man can even reply with a witty retort. Octavio’s hands shake as he pries the lid off the deathbox on the roof, searching for a medkit, or even a syringe. Just something to stop Elliott from bleeding out. Eventually, he finds what he needs, and hurries back over to his wounded ally. “Hey, Ell, look, I got you something.” He chirps, but is met with what seemed to be a drowsy indifference. “No- El- Mirage, don’t go to sleep on me. C’mon, wake up.” He urges as he pulls out the syringe, jabbing it into the trickster’s stomach just below his tactical vest. With a jolt, he startles awake, a painted moan leaving his lips as he looks up at the runner. Octavio breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping as he takes a moment to simply  _ breathe _ . That was close… Too close.

“You have pretty eyes.” Elliott coos, clearly woozy from the loss of blood, but the compliment doesn’t fail to make a deep seated heat rise to his cheeks. Right, he had taken off his goggles. He felt oddly exposed, almost naked under Elliott’s hazy inspection, but it didn’t feel  _ bad _ . Just different. 

“You nearly died, cabron!” He huffs out, pushing at Mirage’s shoulder and gaining a chuckle in response. 

“But I didn’t.” Elliott, shrugs, shuffling a little more against the hard ground and removing his hand, tacky with drying blood. “You saved me. My knight in shining armor.”

“Shining legs, more like.” Octavio snorts, rolling his eyes. There’s a moment, a silence between them where they happen to gaze at each other, and he begins to feel overly warm under the midday sun. Mirage’s mouth opens, but before he can speak out, the deafening sound of the alarm blares out, signalling the ring had begun to move, and last they checked, they were outside. Octavio stands, offering his hand to the trickster. “Get up, compadre. Can’t do this without you.”

“Aw, you care about me” Elliott coos as he takes the help, standing with a pained groan. The syringe had staved off the bleeding, but he still ached pretty badly. Still, he couldn’t quite fight the grin that tugged at his lips when the runner replied.

“Of course I do, idiota! Why do you think I saved your ass… And came to see you earlier?” His voice had quietened to a mumble, almost inaudible against the steady hum of the ring, and his high cheekbones were tinged with a blush from under his mask. He looks to the floor, riddled with embarrassment as he folds his arms, but Elliott’s finger under his chin brings his head slowly back up until their eyes locked. He was smiling.

“I think… The knight deserves a kiss… I-If he wants.” 

Even while Elliott was flirting, he was not without a sort of stumbling awkwardness, his stutter determined to ruin the moment, but to Octavio, it served as just another reminder of how perfect the man in front of him truly was. With shaking hands, he tugs down the mask, unsure exactly of what to do next when Elliott’s thumb brushes his cheekbone, and his full lips press against his own chapped ones. It was everything he ever dreamed of, well, except that he had pulled away entirely too soon. A laugh bubbles up in Octavio’s throat, the blush extending to his ears as he grins, and Elliott’s soft smile accompanies his. 

“I’ll save you more often if that’s my reward, guapo.” He smirks, readjusting his gear until his face was once again covered. “Now c’mon, race you to the next ring!”


End file.
